


Alpha Dog

by orphan_account



Series: Oh So Intricate [3]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Characteristics, Cat Ears, Fluff, M/M, No band AU, catnip, it's not bad there's no furry shit, oh boi, pre-FOB, sort of crack, tiny angst like barely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-24 21:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7523626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Rick, look! I found something cuter than you!” Pete busts through the door, holding something small and fluffy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alpha Dog

**Author's Note:**

> it's not a/b/o, just in case the title gave that impression. I am SO sorry for the absence but i'm planning on updating various stuff soon so keep watching! can't to me @ saverockandsoulpvnk.tumblr.com

It's not rare for Pete to come bursting into Patrick's house yelling something irrational. Today it’s no different.

“Rick, look! I found something cuter than _you_!” Pete busts through the door, holding something small and fluffy.

Immediately, Patrick comes sloping down the stairs with a harassed look on his face He opens his mouth to say Pete's name, but he doesn't quite make it. He's a foot away before he notices the writhing creature in Pete's arms, at which point it pricks up its ears and yips quietly at Patrick, sniffing the air in presumable confusion at Patrick's scent.

Patrick's ears go back; he shoots a ricochet of panicked looks between Pete and the thing that he recognises as a dog. Soft lips draw back in a snarling hiss, his eyes go huge and his ears press low to his head. He looks like a terrified wild animal as he sprints up the stairs.

On his way, he runs straight into Kevin. Stepping back slightly, he stares at his brother like he's an evil predator Patrick's never seen before in his life. After a moment's pause, he ducks around his brother and then a loud slam is heard as he disappears into his room.

Kevin finishes his descent, looking calmly amused; Patrick's odd behaviour is an everyday occurrence in this household, off at the slightest thing.

“ _Dude_ , you broke The Kid,” he groans playfully as he approaches Pete. "I mean, s’not hard. Yesterday a truck went past outside and I guess it was too loud because he was just off. What did _you_ do?”

Pete sighs and raises the bundle in his arms, which he's definitely decided to name ‘Hemingway’. Kevin's face breaks into a grin and he rushes forwards to pet the puppy eagerly.  
“ _Sweet_ , a dog? I love dogs, but I could never have one… Well I had one, when I was very young, but when Patrick... she had to go live at my aunt’s.”

Hemingway licks earnestly at Kevin's palm when the man's face droops.  
“Poor Kid,” he sighs, “You scared him bad, huh?” He speaks more to the dog than Pete, but Pete nods guiltily. Usually after a freak out, Patrick will almost immediately get a handle on his instincts and come sloping downstairs with a red face. The longer he doesn't come, the more serious Pete realises it is.

***

Pete can hear loud panting through Patrick's door. It's locked, but Patrick seems to be pressed up against it on the other side. When Pete knocks quietly, he's rewarded with another muted hiss and the scrabbling sound of Patrick jumping up with fright.

“‘Trick?” he calls softly.

Patrick makes a growling sound before he changes his mind and grumbles “Fuck off, traitor asshole!”

Pete wishes he too had big ears to fold back in order to properly demonstrate his emotion at this moment.  
“ _Traitor_? That's rough, Patrick, it's not like I did anything _that_ bad…”

More furious scrabbling. “ _Not that bad_? That's- that's my _enemy_ , Pete, and you brought it into my house.”

Pete fights a grin, feeling mean for finding amusement in Patrick's flair for the dramatic.

“Rick, that's a little extreme. He's just a baby pup, he wouldn't hurt a fly. Besides, I can't believe you think dogs and cats are enemies. I've seen plenty get along fine and I have the internet to prove it. Especially considering how you’re only _half_ cat, by that logic he's half your enemy and half your best friend, which makes him totally tolerable.”

There's no reply.

“I'm sorry.”

The door clicks and slides open, and Patrick launches himself at his boyfriend and buries himself in his warmth. The motion makes Pete lose his balance and fall hard on his ass. He winces but doesn't say anything.

Patrick soon as he grips him securely, and Pete realises he's trembling. 

“Oh, you poor kitten,” he gushes, rubbing up and down Patrick's back and stroking gently along his ears. Patrick doesn't call him out on the nickname, probably too distracted. It just came out, because right now he reminds Pete of nothing so strongly of a scared, lost baby kitten.

“You're okay. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, I didn't realise it would upset you. Do you want your mom?” he soothes, persistently tickling at Patrick's ears until he hears purring. Patrick looks up, sharp canines slightly bared.  
“No, you ass, I'm not that pathetic,” he complains, pupils still shrunken into thin slits from his fright. It freaks Pete out a little, and he’s relieved to see them dilate slightly as Patrick relaxes.

They don't move until Patrick looks up again and mutters, “D’you really think the puppy is cuter than me?” He tries for nonchalance but his eyes are wide and Pete can feel his tail wagging anxiously against his leg.  
“ _No_ ,” Pete laughs, shushing him, “No way, dude, I was kidding. Nothing could be cuter than you, let's be real. Why, are you _jealous_?”

Patrick ducks his head furiously. “I'm _not_!”

Pete just raises an eyebrow. “Okay… Your brother’s downstairs with the dog. Why don't you go see if you can stand to be in the same room as him? I promise I'll never bring him over here again if you don't like him, ” he says, “I need to pee, I'll join you guys in a minute.”

***

Pete's barely left Patrick alone for a minute before he hears the sound of barking, a high pitched squeal, and then silence. He understands, descending the stairs, why people always say not to work with pets or children.

“Patrick?” he calls in slight alarm when no small body hurtles up the stairs to greet him, be it Patrick or the new puppy. Kevin is nowhere to be seen either.

Upon arrival in the living room, he sees why: Patrick is laying on the floor, staring above himself with glassy eyes while poor Hemingway stands over him, whining. Terrified, Pete rushes forwards until he sees Patrick's chest heaving, and snorts.

“Patrick, hobey, what are you doing?” Pete asks, folding his arms. From his place, spread out on the floor, Patrick blinks and focuses on Pete.

“I was playing dead,” he answers sullenly. His ear is twitching unhappily.

“Mm. Why?”

“Because,” Patrick sighs, “I was scared, and that’s what my instincts tell me to do. And don't you dare say anything because it's _your_ asshole dog! When I _tell_ you I don't like dogs, I _mean_ it! “

Without uncrossing his arms, Pete purses his lips. His boyfriend doesn't move from the floor and stares reproachfully up at him. When Patrick finally blinks, Pete lifts up his puppy and shuts him away in the kitchen. He pretends not to hear Patrick's satisfied huff at the dog’s sad whimper.

“I'm sorry Hemmy scared you,” Pete says softly.

“I'm sorry I _got_ scared,” Patrick replies, sounding angry at himself.

“Hey,” Pete's tone drops into something concerned. He ducks to scratch at Patrick's ear, waiting until he closes his eyes and begins to purr reluctantly to add, “I'm sorry about the dog. I said won't bring him over again if you don't get along. If you really hate him in the long term I'll find him a different home. But I-,” Pete swallows, “He didn't have anywhere else to _go_ , Rick, and he needed a home. Kind of like you did, huh? I was thinking of you when I got him, to be honest; trying to pay back what your mom did for you, or something, I dunno. I just thought about another little baby who needed a home all those years ago and what would've happened then, if no one had looked after him.”

Patrick's leaning forward, mouth slightly parted. His ears are undecided: one leaning straight upright and the other folded back but flicking up and then back down again when Pete stops talking. The erratic motion makes Pete laugh quietly although Patrick’s eyes are suspiciously watery.  
“It’s okay, Pete, I get it. You can keep the dog,” he mutters, furiously trying to contain his tears.

When Pete lowers himself unceremoniously on top of Patrick, he shifts uncomfortably - complaining that his tail is getting squashed - before tugging on Pete's collar and bringing him down for the most chaste of kisses.

  
Pete quickly realises he has no cHanse of moving as Patrick clings to him sleepily. He thanks god for the fact that he went to the bathroom recently, as he knows he's going to spend a long time like this.

Soon he begins to feel his boyfriend's breathing even out as he falls into a deep sleep.  
Patrick lays his head on Pete's shoulder and rubs his ear against his neck. Occasionally he shifts in protest at the tiniest movement from Pete - a vain attempt by the human to free himself from the other’s clutches.

***

  
“Where’ve you been?” Pete asks when a slightly soggy form hurls itself down next to him on the bed.  
“Out,” Patrick purrs, butting his head into Pete. He makes a displeased sound and nudges Pete harder, begging to be pet. When Pete's hand trails absently to his ears, he triples in volume and drops something on Pete's chest. It's small and damp, like it's been in Patrick's mouth and Pete grimaces.

Judging by Patrick's own sogginess, it's been raining outside, Pete realises. Regardless of the small object’s history, Patrick is watching Pete expectantly and he feels that to ignore it would probably break Patrick's weird little heart.  
“What's that?”  
Patrick mews in annoyance and nudges it towards Pete again.

Accepting his fate, Pete picks it up. It's a toy mouse, a rip in its side shedding stuffing and a suspicious looking herb. Sniffing it to confirm his suspicions, Pete can't help but laugh. “Where did you get this?”  
Patrick's eyes are glazed. “Out,” he meows again, pushing his head into Pete's shoulder.

“You better not be part of some weird underground catnip ring.”  
“I found it,” Patrick says, with difficulty. If he wasn't already lying down, he'd probably have fallen over by now, absolutely trashed on the stuff. Pete wishes he were more awake to appreciate it. “Your turn,” he adds, staring sternly at the mouse, although he's almost completely lost his ability to focus.

“Patrick, you know it doesn't work on me, stupid.”  
Patrick mewls plaintively, ears flat and eyes wide. “I know, but I wanted you and me to…” He pauses, like he's struggling to fit words together in his hazed out brain, “So I didn't always have to be different. So you could get it, and I wouldn't-”

“Oh, Patrick,” Pete sighs, pulling him up to lie on the pillow. He doesn't protest as he's brought up to eye level with Pete, just shuts his eyes. Pete grips him tightly and lets him rub his face happily all over Pete, purring loudly.

  
“Sorry,” he whines, stopping with some difficulty and wriggling backwards to meet Pete's eyes. His own eyes are wrinkled up in concentration.

It's hard for him at night anyway, without whatever effect the catnip has on him, to speak in proper sentences. Pete remembers being told by someone that cats can only focus on things about fifteen centimetres away from their face - and don't like having things close to their face that they can't see very well - and shuffles back. The crease in Patrick's brow lessens, and he smiles dazedly, blinking.

“If I promise to take you a party sometime, and we can both get smoked up just the same, will you go to sleep?” Pete pleads. Patrick's distractedly kneading at Pete's leg through the bedding, with a beatific smile on his face, and he nods. Suddenly, he's laying down on the pillow with his eyes shut, demonstrating his ability for fast and graceful movement that his frequent clumsiness, as well as conscious effort to conceal that part of himself, does well to disguise on the most part.

It's only a couple of minutes before Pete is awoken from almost-sleep when Patrick pounces on his accidentally wiggling toes where they stick out at the end of the bed.  
“‘Trick,” Pete groans, trying to tug his foot out of Patrick's mouth - gross and also, his teeth are sharp. It sounds like he's spitting up a furball as he ejects Pete's toe and tries to clear the taste from his mouth.

He whines and tries to curl up on the comforter but in another few moments, he's up and grabbing excitedly for the mouse that started it all, his whole body scrabbling towards it in excitement.  
“Patrick,” Pete sighs, “C’mon, you're meant to be stoned. Go the fuck to sleep.”  
Patrick shakes his head with an indignant noise. His voice takes on a condescending tone as he explains, sighing, “S’not how it works. It makes you be playful and active, not sleepy.”

He punctuates this by grabbing for the mouse again, batting quite aggressively at the poor bedraggled thing.  
“Can't help it. Sorry,” he shrugs, wiggling his legs in delight. He really doesn't look very sorry.

  
“Alright, that's enough,” Pete groans, standing up. Confused, Patrick tilts his head to the side and makes a whining noise more fitting from a dog, ears set back.

“Look, whatever gets me sleep the fastest. Where’s your stuff?”  
Patrick's face crinkles up with distaste. “Oh, I don't know if I shou- I’ll just go in my room by myself and you can sleep, it's okay,” he suggests. His purring has ceased, though, so Pete ignores him.

“No, don't be like that about it. I'm tired but not an asshole,” Pete argues, folding his arms. “Where is it, Stump?”  
Patrick cowers and blinks wide eyes before scurrying down the hall, Pete in tow, to his room and his dresser, throwing open a bottom drawer, and blushing starkly. It's not as embarrassed as he would be if he wasn't high in the middle of the night.

There's not much: a loosely wrapped, frayed ball of wool; a knotted and tangled piece of string with a feathery, jingly article on the end of it and a stick to hold; a small, see-through ball with a little plastic mouse inside, and not much else.  
Patrick shrugs. “Mom took all the rest,” he pouts. Pete's eyebrows go up.  
“Yeah, so I heard,” he teases, grinning. “So, uh, that's all you have? Where did you get these, the dollar store?”

The narrowing of Patrick's eyes, Pete takes to mean yes. His brain is already racing through all obscure luxury cat toys he'd seen in his life, determined to buy every last one of them on his college student budget. By the time he starts concentrating again, Patrick's sitting on the floor, toying idly with the wool. He looks alarmingly like one of those sad, underfed cats with the huge eyes and brain dead expression from the commercials that want you to donate money to them.

Feeling evil but proud, Pete remembers the one thing he has with him, somewhere or other. Leaving Patrick to his boredom, Pete disappears to rummage through his bags until he finds it in his jeans pocket. A laser pointer. Because he's not a good person, and he wants to see Patrick flip out, Pete doesn't say anything about it, just leans against the wall and watches.

Too shy to really give in, despite the drug coursing through his system, Patrick bats the ball from one hand to another. Occasionally, when its movement is particularly pleasing to him, a small smile plays on his lips, but that's it.

Aiming carefully to a spot just out of his reach, Pete clicks the laser on. Patrick doesn't see it at first, but Pete wiggles it around until he suddenly notices.

His whole body goes taut and his ears are leaning excitedly forward. He drops down so he's like a lion crawling through long grass, and Pete can see the frantic movement of his tail, his breathing so heavy Pete can hear. Ever since he arrived with the catnip, he hasn't seemed physically able to stop himself purring, but it's become a more throaty growl now as he creeps towards the red dot.

At the last movement, Pete jerks it away and almost screams when Patrick, without missing a beat, lunges after it. He's a blur as he leaps across the carpet and scrabbles desperately at the dot, mewing indignantly when he can't seem to catch it. Pete continues to move it up and down, laughing as Patrick runs naively after it each time and wonders when he'll realise (and strangle Pete).

“Patrick,” Pete says eventually, feeling cruel for the wild goose chase he's sending Patrick on, but Patrick ignores him completely. After a few more tries, he clicks the pointer off. Patrick stares expectantly at the spot where it was, waiting for it to reappear. When Pete approaches behind him and nervously taps his back, he jumps up, spitting and hissing with all his hair stuck up at odd angles, on his arms and neck and even his head.

“Hey, woah,” Pete gapes, almost genuinely afraid of Patrick's impulsive reaction and slitted pupils. “It's just me.” Patrick stares at him for a second, suspicious, before his shoulders slump and he goes pink.  
“Oh my god, I'm- hey!” Patrick starts to apologise, but notices the pointer in Pete's hand. It's visible on his face as he works back through what just happened. “Hey! Did you- oh, you _fucker_ , I can't believe you fucked with me like that.”

He sounds angry, but he looks happy and breathless, so Pete doesn't push it, satisfied that he did the right thing for Patrick.  
“Here, kitty, kitty,” he smirks, scratching Patrick's ears and then under his chin, letting him rub his face against the hand, purring loudly.

  
" I'm gonna be so mad at you once I-” he grunts, trying to remain angry against every one of his instincts, and then gives up. “Hm, I love you so much,” he giggles suddenly, “You're so, huh, nice. Mmmmmmm. Smell nice.”

Pete puts an an arm under Patrick's waist to support his suddenly swaying body. “Oh yeah?” he laughs, trying to shove Patrick off his neck, which he's sniffing interestedly at and then trying to lick; Pete's learned his lesson there, and Patrick's tongue is sharp and itchy against his skin. He feels Patrick nodding and laughs again. “That's sweet of you to say. I can't remember the last time I showered, though. Come on, you need to get to your own bed.”

Patrick sighs loudly. Changing tack, he puts his ears back and widens his eyes pathetically and mews, “Nooooo…”  
Mimicking him, Pete replies, “Yeaaaahhhh. Or else your brother will kill me. C’mere.”  
And then he lifts Pattick into the air, preferring the physical strain over the negotiation of Patrick into his bed by choice. He fights a fair amount, meowing and hissing so loudly Pete has to shush him, but Pete finally arrives in his scruffy bedroom.

“Get some sleep, you,” Pete orders, basically dumping Patrick headfirst onto the mattress. Catnip must be more like weed than Patrick thinks, because he's snoring by the time Pete has the comforter tucked neatly over him.

***

Like always, Pete wakes up with Patrick curled up on the bottom of his mattress. When Pete pokes him with one foot, he cracks one eye open and stops purring. Seeing Pete, his eyes squish shut in a sleepy smile and he starts to purr again, shuffling closer.

“Rise and shine!” Pete says, although he knows he has no hope of rousing Patrick before midday, especially as he was up in the night. On a normal day, Pete and Kevin leave him slumbering while they have breakfast, and then Pete brings a cup of milky tea to try and wake him up.

Today, Pete feels a weight trapping his feet and kicks lightly to dislodge Patrick: instead, there's a disgruntled whimper, and Hemingway's face peeks up over the ridge of Pete's knees. Sitting up in confusion, Pete sees Patrick with his body curled protectively around the puppy, grooming his fur with a angelic smile.

Pete knows what grooming means to Patrick. He read in one of the many cat books he skims when he has spare time at the library - unlocking little pieces of that side of Patrick, making him make a lot more sense to Pete when he's like this - how important it is for bonding, satisfying the social side of his instincts. Unfortunately, no one with fur is normally freely around and ready to be attacked with Patrick's rough tongue.

He watches for a while, grinning, until Patrick catches him looking and frowns. Pete shakes his head at the blushing teenager and flops back against the pillows, grinning. He spends the time waiting for Kevin to wake up planning the ten more dogs he's going to adopt.


End file.
